


What You Mean to Me

by ClockworkKeaton



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, F/F, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Slice of Life, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkKeaton/pseuds/ClockworkKeaton
Summary: Friends come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. [ A collection of stories about Agent 8's relationships with all the friends and folks of Inkopolis, each chapter will be named after the relevant character(s) involved and stories can be considered loosely connected if not in chronological order necessarily. Major characters have been tagged in advance, additional characters will be tagged as needed. ]





	1. Marina

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Yes! I want there to be more content about Eight's feelings towards the people who support and love her, be it platonic or romantic love, and more fics that focus on the primary role her relationship with that character serves. There will, naturally, be some shippy stuff involved in places but it'll be more referential than the primary goal of these stories.
> 
> That said, there will absolutely be a big dumb mushy Agent 24 chapter. Eventually. I very very much want to portray them with a little more intimate fondness than I've gotten a chance to so far.
> 
> With that said, here's chapter one!

Every single moment on this bright and sunny surface Eight thanks her stars she has Marina.

From day one, she had been the greatest source of comfort the Octoling had, unsurprisingly so. Everything in Inkopolis was new, foreign and exciting but certainly daunting for someone who lived their life in near isolation and ignorance. She wasn't a dumb girl, far from, but she was vastly out of her element and scared and worried and  _nervous._

And Marina? Marina knew that all too well. 

Marina had been the one to coax her into speaking about her experiences, Marina had been the one to calm her down from episodes the others could hardly understand, Marina had been the one so adamantly checking up on her this entire time... because Marina had been there and Eight knew that. The stories they exchanged about the Octarian army ranged from uncomfortable to heartbreaking. At the end of the day, they had tread the same path ( save Eight's experiences in the metro ) and that common ground meant the world to her during a time in her life where she felt like so much of an outsider.

That being said, her patience with Marina's poking and prodding is far more than she'd give anyone else. Being  _touched_ was something Eight was still, decidedly, not much of a fan of and it was a trait many Octolings shared. Contact could be perfectly enjoyable in the right circumstances but for the most part it was foreign and intrusive and a little bit anxiety inducing. Especially for a teenager with what could only be blender-related PTSD.

"Alright, now just let your fingers soak in this." Marina hums, her voice soothing and sing-song. She may not have as much of an accent as Eight but it was undeniably comforting in a way for at least  _someone_ to have a twinge of familiarity to them. Eight could listen to her talk about nothing all day with how soothing it felt, a bit ironic considering she and Pearl boomed over the plaza with news reports what felt like semi-constantly. 

Eight casts a wary glance at the bowl of liquid in front of her, light pink and heavily scented of flowers. What exactly this whole 'bonding over grooming' thing was supposed to accomplish was beyond her but she supposed it was just one of those quirks of Inkopolis society she hadn't quite caught yet. It didn't take long to pick up on how absorbed in their preening they could be. Still, she trusts Marina-- if anyone understood her low tolerance for fear or pain, it was certainly the older Octoling. 

"... why?" She murmurs, a brow raising.

"Don't worry, it's just to make your skin softer." Marina reassures her, dipping a finger of her own in the mixture. "See? It won't hurt at all, I promise."

Seemingly satisfied with that explanation, Eight tentatively slides the tips of her claws into the bowl. It was... warm. Relaxing in a way, even if the strange perfumes were a bit much. Still, it was something to do and an excuse to spend time with Marina when she wasn't busy with work or music or Pearl was something she wouldn't neglect. As much as she found comfort in her presence, it'd be a little selfish to hog her attention when Eight knows fully well Marina would do everything she could to be there for her after everything she went through. Fostering a sense of independence was probably more important in the long run.

But moments like tonight were still plenty special.

"Do you do things like this a lot?" Eight glances over. "It seems like a lot of work."

"Maybe." Marina laughs. "But it helps me wind down after a long week. I think everyone can benefit from a little time devoted to taking care of themselves, don't you?"

Sound logic. How this did anything for her other than make her smell like a rose bush was beyond her though. She doesn't have time to question that, however, before Marina's own clawed hand gently removes hers from the water and spares a moment drying them against a towel.

"Alright,  _now,_ " She begins, pulling something from her nearby nail kit. A small metal stick? Eight wrinkles her nose, brows furrowed in confusion at the object. "I'm just going to use this to shape your nails. You won't feel it at all and we've already cleaned them up quite a bit earlier, but see the ends here? They've been getting chipped and frayed."

Eight doesn't seem to catch the issue.

"So?" She tilts her head just slightly. "That's... sort of what nails do, isn't it?"

"Yes, well." Marina can't help but giggle. "Don't you think they could look a little nicer with some effort?"

That doesn't clear up much. Why care about  _that?_ Maybe something to do with the Inkling obsession with looking  _fresh_ , whatever that was supposed to mean. Eight still can't wrap her head around any possible benefit something so trivial could ever really offer. Hell, even Three didn't seem to care and all it got her was teased despite the fact she was probably one of the strongest Inkling warriors Eight knew. It all seemed so...

Frivolous? 

Still, she's calm and obedient as Marina files down her overgrown claws, watching attentively as they lose their long, jagged shape and turn into something more uniform and neat. With the layers of grime and wear from the metro being chipped away, the bioluminescence in the tips where ink gathers glows brighter than is had since... well, since she could ever remember. It wasn't as if she was pampering herself in the Octarian army, after all. Still, the way her hands illuminate the bowl with a soft pink light is admittedly a little fulfilling.

"They're... pretty." She murmurs. 

Marina spares a slight smile.

"Aren't they? The first time Pearl took me to get mine done, I stared at them for days. It made me feel so clean and happy and beautiful, even if it really wasn't much of a big deal in the first place." She pauses, taking a moment to wipe the surface of Eight's left fingernails with a washcloth. "I spent so long wandering the streets and worrying about surviving that it felt... just wonderful being able to do something for no other reason than it feeling nice."

Eight supposes she can understand that. The many luxuries of Inkopolis, from food to clothes to toys and gadgets, meant more to them than any Inkling could realize. It was the first point in her life where things could be done without purpose or intent, where even the most trivial ideas were at least worth entertaining for the fun of it. She may lack a strong sense of direction these days but, as it turns out, it left plenty of space for her to decide what was important to her  _herself._

With one hand finished, Eight raises it to her face for inspection, offering the slightest purse of her lips.

"The ends aren't sharp anymore though."

She doesn't say it outright, but the implication is there: it felt like the same sort of domestication done to a pet to make them less dangerous and unruly. Sure, she had weapons and fighting skills even the best of the best would admire, but these were her natural defenses and it hardly felt  _good_ to know they were stripped down and rendered fairly harmless. If she were to be completely honest, it felt like it veered from 'pointless' into 'counterproductive'. 

"I know." Marina smiles sympathetically. "I felt the same way at first but... sometimes it's better to accept that things aren't like that these days."

Eight doesn't respond to that, mostly because she doesn't know how to.

"Besides," Marina continues. "It  _will_ make things a little easier on you for the time being. Inklings are... they're well intentioned people, but certainly not the brightest when it comes to folks like us sometimes. Having your hands look so grizzled and jagged is a little... ah.... well..."

"Scary?"

The older girl sighs, conceding a small nod and yet another apologetic look. 

"You have to keep in mind they don't have experiences with people like us though, Eight. Most of what they know is either made up or rumors that had been telephone'd down so many people they've lost their original context." 

Eight makes a decidedly sour face at the choice of expression, mostly because she can't quite discern what it's supposed to mean outside of the key word  _telephone_ which only inspired feelings of disdain and gut-wrenching. Marina seems to notice this and quickly offers a shake of her head. 

"The point being, these small steps help. Don't you think that perhaps even an Inkling who's never seen an Octoling in person would be able to appreciate the way they look?" As if to prove her point, she gently motions for Eight to flex her fingers outward for display. "You can be the person to give them a new perspective on what it's like to be fresh for _us_."

Maybe. Somehow she doubted anyone would read that much into a manicure but it might be yet another instance of her taking things at face value more than she should. Surely there was some nuance to a statement like that she had missed but it's not one she's going to bother digging around for too much. Marina wanted to do her nails and, in the end, it wasn't a big enough deal for Eight to want to tell her to stop. She put up with the flower water, she put up with the filing, and she even puts up with the 'clear coat' ( whatever that is ) Marina paints over them afterwords. Sitting completely still while they dry was unpleasant admittedly but Eight still manages.

"Aaaaand... I think we're done!" Marina practically beams as she looks over Eight's hands. The nails themselves were still fairly long but clipping them didn't seem like the best option just yet. One wrong cut and Eight would absolutely never agree to this again, something Marina wasn't willing to risk right off the bat. At any rate, they looked much better than the ragged and dirty mess they had been earlier.

And for all her mixed feelings on such a weird way to pass time, for as much as Eight still doesn't see why this was what Marina felt like doing for over an hour now, it still earns a small, measured smile as she looks over the girl's handiwork. Maybe... just maybe she could let herself stop worrying about the hows and whys and something could just be simple and satisfying. If it meant having one more ritual between her and the closest thing she'd ever had to family, then maybe there was no harm in conceding Marina might know what she's talking about even if Eight herself couldn't fully grasp it. It didn't have to be more complicated than that if she didn't want it to be.

"Do you... think we could do this again next week?"

Marina's expression softens, almost as if her hearts melt at even the idea.

"I'd really, really love that."


	2. Pearl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Chapter 2, my darlings. I hope everyone is having a good day and I hope you enjoy [peace sign emoji]

Pearl was... surprisingly dependable.

When Marina told Eight to go to Pearl if she ever needed anything and Marina herself was unavailable, Eight hadn't thought much of it--- they were coworkers, partners she later finds out, and it's obvious to anyone with eyes that Pearl is Marina's right-hand gal. They were hardly ever apart and almost insanely in sync with one another, to an admirable degree really. It made sense, Pearl having been the person to provide Marina the stability to start a new life and all, and the inherent implications of that support make Eight put a large amount of good faith in her as well.

Pearl had done everything under the sun for Marina and it quickly became apparent that... well, Pearl would do the same for her. For a lot of people, really.

With a small yawn, Eight slides from the bed in her borrowed room, yet another thing to thank the two older girls for providing her in the meantime, and she makes her way out into the hall. The mansion itself was  _incredible_ ; it'd be absolutely no stretch to say the Hozuki Estate was the most fancy and awe-inspiring building Eight had ever been in. It almost made her feel out of place with how awkward, clueless, and clumsy she came off as half of the time but... well, it felt more like a home than any other place she had lived before.

After navigating down the hall, the girl pokes her head in the cracked door of the lounge where muffled video game SFX betray a certain Inkling's location. With Marina handling some business of her own today, it was just the two of them and Eight knew to expect that Pearl had woken up with the other woman even if they weren't necessarily leaving together. They were strange like that sometimes, she notes.

"Pearl..?" She clears her throat, taking a few steps in the room. "I'm a little hungry..."

Perparing her own meals was still far out of the question for her, at least if they didn't want a  _fire,_ so the best she can do is concede she needs help. Marina was the one handling that sort of thing on a normal day ( hell, she usually had breakfast on the table before the other two even woke up ) but it was evidently a pretty hectic morning.

"Huh-? Oh--" Pearl mashes a few buttons on her controller before tossing it aside. "I almost forgot. No prob, B, I'll hook us up."

Eight smiles and offers an appreciative nod, even though she still had no idea what 'b' was supposed to be short for and Pearl seemed perfectly content not to tell her. She doesn't even bother bringing it up a tenth time knowing it'd just earn her another cheeky grin and smug cackle. Weird, weird woman.

"C'mon." Pearl motions for Eight to follow her down the hall, her hands sliding into the pockets of her pajama pants. "I totally got wrapped up in Sushi Mussel Odyssey and super forgot about breakfast. Lucky you're around, eh?"

Another door is swung open and Pearl leads the two into the kitchen. At least,  _one_ kitchen-- the mansion being as obnoxiously elaborate as it was, you could certainly find a few more if you looked, even if Pearl did seem to write the strangest things off as 'storage rooms'. Ah well. It's bright, it's clean, and it's fully stocked full of delicious food so Eight has no room to complain. Instead, she merely settles at her usual seat at the bar counter, arms wresting on the cool surface as she watches Pearl pull ingredients from the fridge. 

Eggs and bacon were the meal of the day it looked like. A favorite of Pearl's, she's been told.

"Hmm... I didn't know you could cook." Eight murmurs thoughtfully, curious silver eyes trained on the tiniest motions her host made as she got to work cracking eggs over a pan. 

"Yeah, I just don't do it all that often. Marina usually likes bein' the one to handle that kinda crud." Pearl says with a small shrug. "I learned when I was a kid anyways.  _Hate_ cold breakfast, yo, it totally janks with my stomach. You know, it's law around here that warm's better anyways."

For as casually as the remark is made, Eight can't help but furrow her brows in confusion for a moment. What the hell sort of law was that? Inkopolis was... strange. One had to wonder what sort of priorities these squids had that led to the current state of things, oddities and all. There was going to be a lot to get used to she supposed.

"I like warm breakfast better too." Eight replies with a nod. 

 "Yeah!! See, that's what I'm talkin' about." Pearl grins, flipping the pan with a flick of her wrist. "You know what's up. It's gonna be really cool havin' you around when the next Splatfest's a thing. I mean, yeah, you were here for the whole squid versus octo jazz, but you'll actually be able to compete in this one if you wanna, y'know?"

Right. She was still a bit of a lost disaster when she first got here and expecting her to be ready for one of the biggest celebrations in Inkling culture right off the bat was... well, wishful thinking. Eight had resigned to watching Pearl and Marina's performances and observing the festivities from the plaza, with Four and Three providing company whenever they weren't out turfing for their sides. The atmosphere was overwhelming and intense but she couldn't deny the sort of electric happiness that buzzed in the air. More than anything, she can't ever remember seeing so many people having such a good time together, so happy and friendly and without a care. Even strangers seemed to have some sort of common ground worth laughing and smiling about together.

"What's the next one supposed to be...?" She glances back to Pearl with a raised brow.

"Hey, hey! I can't go tellin' ya stuff like that." Pearl snorts. "That's like, super confidential info."

"I'm an agent, you know."

"Yeah, well, this is more important."

Sure. The next city-wide poll on carpet versus tile, or whatever equally inane and bizarre set of choices, was totally more important than the dark secrets of the metro and the events that unfolded after. I mean, only a handful of people even knew about the sunken planet destroying laser she had personally dismantled in a turf war against time for the sake of saving all life in Inkopolis, but whatever. Eight just scoffs and offers a roll of her eyes, a gesture that earns a toothy smirk from Pearl.

"Sassy."

"Oh, hush."

Before she can argue any further, a plate is slid in front of her and Pearl takes a seat of her own. It smelled delicious for sure; Eight's stomach grumbles in anticipation almost immediately and it really hits her just how hungry she had gotten. While she occupies herself with enthusiastically digging into her tasty, yolky eggs, Pearl pauses between a bite of toast to glance over at the girl.

"More importantly, dude, you change everything. Up until now? Every Splatfest is just me 'n Marina arguing over somethin', you know how it goes. I pick one side, she picks another, we totally yank each other's tentacles for a few days with some friendly trash talk and that's that." Another piece of bacon is scarfed down. "But!! Now that you're here, you're totally gonna be our tie breaker! Haha! Then Marina's gonna have to admit that she's a super weirdo about her taste most of the time. I mean, what kinda person likes ice cream better than cake?"

A thoughtful look passes over Pearl's face for a moment, only for the woman to groan and lean back in her seat.

"Ughhhh, but wait... since you're both Octolings and you've got all kinds'a stuff in common, that means you're probably gonna side with her and rag on me too. Ain't fair."

"Maybe." Eight giggles, her tongue darting to briefly lick at her lips. "I did say I liked warm better than cold though. There's still a little hope for you. Well... if you keep making me breakfast."


	3. Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hewwo friends!!! Hewwo!!! I'm super excited for this chapter because I just realized this series gives me an excuse to write this scenario and I've been thinking about it for, like, ages. I really hope you guys like it!!

Silver eyes glance to and fro, anxious and unsure. This was... the first time she had been a shop by her lonesome, without a friend taking the lead, and she'd be lying if she said that wasn't a little daunting. More pressing was the issue of her wardrobe, however-- borrowing Marina's clothes would only work for so long and Eight knew that. More importantly, she was oh so ready to start her life in Inkopolis and that wouldn't be possible without  _some_ degree of independence. 

Still, she found her way to the accessory shops in one piece and that was a start.

A bell chimes overhead as she pushes the door open, entering the building with measured caution. It wasn't crowded, not right now, but that was hardly a surprise with the current rotation over at the lobby. Pretty much any inkling worth their salt was over at leagues at the moment and that included Three and Four. Times like these the plaza almost felt like a ghost town save for the small clusters of Inkings and Octolings cleaning up between matches or taking a breather.

"Need any help, little inkfish?"

Eight jumps at the woman's voice as she's rattled from her daydreaming. How long had she spaced out there? Cheeks burn in sheepish embarrassment as she glances over to the clerk behind the register.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm just... l-looking, is all."

"Don't even worry about it." Her voice is smooth as butter and something about her expression is unreadable with how relaxed the woman seems. "I haven't seen you around my shop before. Sure you don't need a hand, darling?"

Eight has no doubt in her mind this was entirely because of the frazzled look on her face but... would it really be so bad to concede she needs a little help? Something about this lady, whoever she was, made her feel almost reflexively at ease. Maybe that was the weird incense burning at the desk but the calm and gentle demeanor certainly helps when it comes to someone so flighty and paranoid.

"Um... m-maybe." She sighs. "I, uh... j-just moved here and I was going to start shopping for clothes today, but I don't really know where to start. I-I've never done it on my own, I guess...."

Spiraled green eyes seem to survey her for a moment and Eight can't help but shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. The woman's gaze seems to stop at her shoes-- standard Octarian heels, the only pair of footwear she had that fit-- before slowly returning to Eight's flushed face.

"Sounds like someone left home a little under-prepared." She hums to herself. Eight, however, offers a flinch when she's essentially read like a book. "You must've been in a hurry." 

"U-Um... y-yeah..."

She almost expects confrontation, almost expects a comment or jab about the fragments of her uniform she still wore or the way her too-big clothes hung on her frame in a way that all but spelled desperation. Nobody rolls with a shirt two sizes too big in Inkopolis after all, not unless it's for the sake of tacky pajamas or part of some chique passing trend which... this decidedly wasn't. She looked more like a homeless girl in an oversized jacket than anyone trying to make a fashion statement. Eight felt as messy as she looked, especially under the watchful eyes of someone who decidedly had a much better grasp of  _fresh_ than she did.

"We'll have you fixed up in no time, dear, don't worry. Do you know your sizes?" 

She blinks, glancing back to the woman with those bright doe-eyes. Admittedly she wasn't sure about those details, mostly because she's never had much of a need for them, but the grander question is why that'd even be an issue in a headgear shop. Wasn't stuff like that designed to be relatively one-size-fits-all? Eight doesn't argue, however, knowing she's in the presence of someone who has a much better grasp on what she's doing than herself.

"I-I don't." She admits, head falling slightly. 

"Not a problem. Auntie Flow will help you take care of that right now." The woman ( Flow, she supposed? ) coos as she steps from behind her counter. There's a moment of rustling as she digs through a nearby drawer for what can only be measurement tape before she finally approaches Eight. "You know, I left home when I was just a little thing, myself. It can be scary out there all by your lonesome."

"Ah... really...?" Eight murmurs. When an unfamiliar hand finds itself at her arm she can't help but tense for a moment, relaxing only when she notices Flow's respectful attempts to give her a little more space. Why was she even measuring her arm of all things? Brows furrow, but only for a moment. "You, um.... seem like you're doing well for yourself though. People talk about this store a lot."

"We've all got to start somewhere, little inkfish." The woman smiles at her and it feels so full of warmth and understanding. "And a new look is the first step in reinventing yourself, don't you think?"

It did seem like a nice idea, she had to admit. All that time she spent stuck in uncomfortably form fitting leather, so bland and uniform, was something she was very much ready to move on from and forget. Even if she hadn't the slightest clue what her sense of style was or even what she'd look good in, anything had to be better than what felt like barely a step up from an inmates drab garb. Sure, she had Marina's wardrobe for now but... that wasn't her. It wasn't what she really wanted at the end of the day.

After a few moments of taking her measurements and making small talk, Flow finally seems content with her data and the tape is set back by her register. Eight expects to be lead around the shop, maybe given a few recommendations, but instead she finds herself being left unattended in an otherwise empty store with a quick "Be right back" as the woman disappears into the back room. The sound of a large metal door opening and shutting catches Eight's attention and she can't help but wonder if Flow had just simply... left. 

But regardless, she stays put, patient and obedient even if a tinge awkward with how she sways slightly in place and refuses to take a seat anywhere. 

And before long Flow is back, this time with a cardboard box in tow.

"Here we are--♫" The package is set on the counter in front of Eight with a reasonable  _thud,_ one that makes the Octoling jump just a tad. That seemed like... a lot. Much more than she set out expecting to get today, for certain. "I had a little consolation to do with my dear neighbors but I think you'll appreciate the results."

Eight chances to walk a little closer, folding open the flaps of the box to inspect the contents inside. Shirts, jackets, shorts, hats, even a pair of turfing sneakers nestled in the corner... had the woman just gone to the other shops and gathered up all of this for her? It seemed like such a strange thing to do, especially when it detracted from her own business, but Eight simply finds herself gaping stupidly at the sight at a loss for words.

Well, maybe not completely.

"I... I-I'm sorry, I can't afford all of this..." She could, but on borrowed money and that was hardly how she wanted to repay Pearl back for everything. That card was for emergencies and her own meager amount of pocket change was reserved for anything she didn't absolutely  _need._  

Even if she probably did  _need_ a decent pair of shoes, but that was besides the point.

"Hm? Oh, no, no..." Flow laughs, a sound so bubbly and airy it'd almost be contagious if Eight wasn't in such a tizzy. "Consider it a gift, to welcome you to the neighborhood. We've all had our hard times... I don't think anyone deserves to feel out of place in a new home. Besides, you'll end up at the hospital trying to turf in those heels, dear."

A gift.

As soon as that word hits her ears, she's  _crying._ It's embarrassing, even a little gross with how she hiccups and sniffles under the amount of tears that seem to flow, but it's too much to expect her to hold it together. Eight doesn't know kindness like this--- Marina and Pearl's selflessness was hard enough to swallow but this? This was a complete stranger doing  _so_ much to help her when she hardly did anything to deserve it. Maybe even more than one stranger judging by the amount of content in the box.

She's so out of sorts she doesn't even protest the gentle and well-meaning hug Flow pulls her in for.

"You've had a pretty hard run, hm?" Another laugh, this one quiet and sweet. "It'll get better, dear. But for now, I want you to take this and come back when you have a better idea of what you like. Once you do that, we'll make sure you're the freshest kid around."

"O-Okay." She manages to reply, her voice cracking just slightly as she offers a nod. "T-Thank you, so much, I-I don't know how I could ever repay you f-for being so... s-so nice to me and..."

"Don't even worry about it, sweetheart. If you ever need anything, you come to Auntie Flow." 

After a moment of rustling through the box the woman produces a long, colorful cloth and quick work is made of fashioning it into a neat bow atop Eight's head even with the large difference in height between them. 

"And maybe next time you can even show me a smile."

"Yeah." Eight does her best to muster one, though it comes out wobbly and unsteady under the weight of her crying. "I-I promise I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably end up removing this note later cos I'm a shy baby who's still very nervous about letting anyone know this is my writing since I'm uhhhh NOT A WRITER REALLY, but if you want to see my Splatoon art you can find it over on Cynoiz @ Tumblr. Lately I've really wanted more and more people to enjoy this series with so I'm super trying to push myself out of my shell and really get out there qwq;; If you ever wanna jam about headcanons or ideas, you can totally hit me up on my personal too @ Youchika on tumblr as well, though I'm pretty slow at replying to things because I'm a shy crybaby.
> 
> Oof okay yes thats enough self advertisement but!! Thank you so much for reading my fic and supporting my work because yall....... are the real freshness in my heart


	4. Crusty Sean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE WAIT I came down with a severe case of lazy bitch (and also I've been hard at work with art commissions but that's neither here nor there). Here's your well awaited update, I hope you enjoy!

Eight peers down at her phone, taking quick note of the time before pocketing the device. Still time before she had to meet up with Three and Four later though that also meant more time to kill until then... she could probably manage that. Inkopolis was slowly but surely becoming a less daunting environment and now that she had a chance to get around it a bit, the layout wasn't  _quite_ as confusing as she had found it at first.

Ironic as it was, Eight had a pretty notoriously good memory when it wasn't being smacked right out of her.

"Ayooo!" A voice catches her attention and when she turns, she's met with the enthusiastic grin of a certain prawn working a nearby food truck. Crusty Sean. She may not know him firsthand herself but she certainly knew  _of_ him-- his food was practically famous in the area, after all, and she certainly heard enough people sing it praise to know the business itself was far from struggling. Why he'd be waving at her of all people is still a mystery though.

"What's kracken, squi-" There's a pause as eyes glance her over from behind large glasses flecked with frying grease and various powdered spices. He seems to consider his verbage for a moment before ultimately reconsidering and continuing on, " _Kiddo._ My bad, my bad. Habit, ya'kno?"

Eight blinks, confused but not entirely  _offput_. She assumed it was some social faux pas she wasn't quite 'in the know' enough to catch, but the man seemed to be well intentioned nonetheless. The exchange is chalked up to niceties and she decides there's most likely no harm in approaching the truck to speak to him properly.

"Um... hi there." She clears here throat. "Did you need me for something?"

"You the little octo hangin' around short stuff lately, ain'tcha?" After a moment of thought, she can only guess he was referring to Four. Made sense considering she was the one Eight heard gush about the 'restaurant' the most. "Almost didn't recognize ya in those fresh threads've yours. Lookin' pretty slick! New gear?"

That much earns a bright, toothy smile from Eight-- it was about the first time since she got here anyone thought her outfit was anything shy of a disaster. Considering her newly acquired wardrobe, she'd be hard-pressed not to feel a little proud. 

"Yes sir." She nods. "Miss Flow helped me get all of it."

"Sir? Aw, c'mon now, none'a that here. You're makin' me sound grey around the gills, kid." Crusty Sean groans, offering a non-committal wave of the hand as he flips a few patties on his grill. "Figures though. Flow's got an eye for that kinda thing-- that bow is screamin' her style. Not that it's a bad thing, though. She's pretty in the know for an OG flower child if ya catch my drift."

A hand goes to the ribbon tied around her head, a look of fondness passing over Eight's features.

"Yeah... I'm still a fish out of water with the whole 'fashion' thing." She smiles, a hand rubbing sheepishly at her elbow. "Thank you though."

" _Ehhh,_ don't even worry about it, kid. You're doin' fine."  Another dismissive wave of his hands, this one followed by a rather pronounced  _psshhhh_ as he slides a plate donned with a 'seanwich' and fries across the counter of the truck. "Besides, any friend've my best customer is a friend've Crusty Sean. This one's on the house, ya heard?"

She blinks, eyes going to the food. It certainly  _smelled_ good and with it being around lunchtime it was harder than it needed to be to turn down a free meal. Even if she didn't eat here she'd have to find  _something_ soon anyways, so with that in mind Eight accepts defeat with a small sigh and another meek smile as she takes the plate in her hands. Besides, it wouldn't be a stretch to say Four had probably invested enough money in this place to pay for her dinner several hundred times over when it came down to it.

"Oh... thanks. Are you sure it's okay? I can afford to-" 

"Nahhhh, consider it a sample or somethin'. More importantly, how're ya findin' the neighborhood? Settling in alright?"

"It's... different." She begins, pausing just long enough to tuck a stray tentacle back behind her ear. "I'm a lot happier here though, I think. The people are all so nice and there's so much fun and interesting stuff around here so it's hard not to fall in love just a little. I, um... I-I guess you could say I'm from out in the country? So living in the big city for the first time is a pretty big jump for me but I'm trying my best to keep up."

The man offers an almost sagely nod as the cap is removed from his head to wipe a thin sheen of sweat from his face. 

"I feel ya, kid. But, hey, the trout that swims upstream is stronger 'cos of it, ya dig me? Takes a lotta guts to get out there and really chase your dreams." He grins. "And ya never know how things'll turn out. I started out this truck 'bout a year ago half expectin' to end out broke before the end've the month. If I chickened out, where'd we be now? Iunno 'bout you but I'm pretty glad I'm tossin' treats and not sizin' shoes."

"You used to work at a gear shop?" Eight tilts her head slightly.

"Work? Maaaaan, Crusty Sean had the sweetest sneakers this side of the metro. You ever heard of Shrimp Kicks? I was making mad bank at Booyah Base back in the day. How'dya think I got the coinage for the truck?" There's a roll of his eyes. "And the sign, and the permit, and the menu, and, and, and.... biz is shella expensive to get into. I'm doin' pretty good for myself these days though, I gotta say. Definitely beats bankrupting for sure."

Interesting. With how renown the truck was, Eight would figure it'd been around much longer. _Speaking of_... her attention turns to the deep fried something-or-another she had been offered, tentatively picking it up with a clawed hand. All it takes is one bite for a look of childish wonder to pass over her expression and for ears to offer a few eager and excited twitches. The sauces on top were a bit messy but the crispy coating and the savory meat were, no question, absolutely delicious.

"Thish ish sho goo'..." She mumbles around another greedy bite, much to the amusement of Crusty Sean.

"Yeah? Good. Maybe you'll drop by with our buddy next time she's in the neighborhood." He remarks with a hearty laugh. "And hey, you pass on a message for me, 'kay? Tell the kid I need an extra pair of claws on crew for the Wet Floor concert if she's lookin' to score some snack tickets. If there's two things Inklings can't get enough of, it's food and tunes and I sure as shell can't keep up with all the squiddos partyin' it up by myself."

Eight seems to consider this for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully. Reach for your dreams and all that, right? She wasn't going to get anywhere if she didn't learn to put herself out there and reach for the goals she set herself. Independence. She told herself so many times that that was what she wanted and needed and that meant not being constantly afraid of the what-ifs. After all she'd been through, was there really all that much to be scared of in the first place? Her lack of socialization said yes, but the intense survivalist in her insists nothing could stop her now. 

"I could help out. I-I can't cook,  _yet..._ but... if you show me what to do and you can pay me in coins instead, I'll work." She nods, expression hardened with equal parts determination and nervous energy. "I don't turf or go to concerts myself so I'm free more often than Four is too and I'd be able to come in more often. Getting a job is really important to me right now so I promise I'll do my very best."

Crusty Sean seems to consider this for a moment, brows drawn with skepticism as he looks the girl over. She certainly didn't have the resume Four did but what good would it do to reject a spirited youth he just gave the marvelous advice to be a go-getter to? That aside, it went against the values of a man who wanted nothing more than to see more kids taking a leap of faith even in the face of uncertainty and inexperience. If nothing else, this kid definitely had fire after all. 

"Ya know what? You got yourself a deal." A claw is extended to shake on the deal and after an awkward moment of trying to figure out the best way to go about it, she takes him up on it. "Be here bright and early Saturday. I fire up the truck at eight but you ain't gonna wanna be half asleep when you show, got it? I wanna see some hustle, rookie."

Eight nods, all toothy grins and self satisfaction.

"Yes sir, boss!"

" _Hey-_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi hi~ Next chapter is one I'm looking forward to quite a bit, and I hope you guys are too! If you have any characters you think I might not include that you'd really like to see show up eventually, please don't be shy about dropping a comment. Feedback is great because it keeps my drive going and makes me feel motivated to put out stuff to share with you guys. :'~) Stay fresh!


	5. Agent 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, huh? Sorry I dropped off the face of the planet! Things have been a little hectic on my end, but I really wanted to get back into the swing of things with an update. I hope you're all still sticking around, and that all of you are having a good day!

"Man, Splatoween left me WIPED." 

Eight glances over at Four from over the brim of her cup, her own gaze equally exhausted. For her first  _major_ Inkopolis holiday bash, she held up the best she could. It was... certainly more than she was used to, loud and vibrant and intense in a way that puts even a typical Splatfest to shame, but fun nonetheless. Being able to spend the festivities with Three and Four helped to balance things out a bit as well, admittedly.

"I don't blame you." Eight murmurs, offering a brief stretch of her legs. "You stayed out a lot later than Three and I did. Something you had to do?"

"Nah," Four shakes her head. "Just a little energy still left to burn, y'know? Plus, like, Splatoween only comes once a year! If I don't make the most of it, it feels like a total waste!"

Surprisingly firm resolve from a squid who nearly ate enough candy to kill her, but Eight keeps that much to herself. She'd hardly done any better--- hoarding food wasn't something easily done in Octarian society, let alone delicacies like Inkling sweets, so to say moderation ended up being an issue was putting it mildly. Even Three seemed to allow herself to indulge in excess enough that it left her even more crumpled and moody than usual, something that leaves Eight with the impression that it may as well be some sort of celebratory rite. Partying until it physically impaired you certainly seemed like an Inkling ideology. 

"Too bad Team Trick still lost." 

The hint of a smile on Eight's lips and her teasing tone earn an immediate glare from Four, one that comes off far more unintentionally childish and indignant than intended.

"Hey, it's bad enough that I was the only one representing out there! Three only picked Treat 'cos  _you_ did and it's not like Marie or Pearl can go turfin' with me. I can only be so awesome when I'm outnumbered, y'know!"

"Sounds like someone's still a little sour about that e-liter snipe--"

"Considering you got me from across the map, YEAH, maybe a little bit!"

Eight's cheerful if self-satisfied giggles barely dampen the sound of Four's loud and overdramatic groan as the girl lays across the patio table they sit at, earning a few curious and confused glances from the crowds going about their day around them.  

"I'll never get how you're so good at that, you know." Four huffs. "What, do you have freakin' robot eyes or somethin'? I couldn't hide from you if I tried! In the ink? Nope. Behind a wall? Nope! You're blastin' me before I even see the laser! All you do is sit perched up on a lookout like some kinda stone cold gargoyle waiting to knock the spit outta someone."

"Practice is a virtue, just like patience." Something she'd hardly expect from Four of all people. "It's just a matter of waiting for opportunity, is all. You can hardly blame me for being a little bit more prepared than you when you just run around throwing rollers and buckets at everything as hard and fast as you can."

There's another groan as Four's amber eyes peer up at Eight.

"Do you even know how boring that sounds? The whole point'a turfin' is to get out there and do somethin'! I gotta be  _in the action,_ I can't just, like... sit there the entire match."

"So you'd rather sit at _spawn_ then?"

Any ruffled reply Four might have given is cut short by the chime of Eight's phone, the girl's thumb sliding through recent messages as sharp silver eyes flick across the screen. For someone who was relatively easy going and laid back, Four did have  _one_ good point about Eight-- whenever she was even remotely focused the look of intensity on her face surely betrays a certain sense of intimidation. In every day life it was as simple as her sharp and angled features giving off the impression of being unapproachable, but on the battlefield she was definitely a foe capable of striking fear into your very core.

"Are you just gonna keep makin' a face like you just got an email for barnacle cream or tell me what's up?"

"Huh? Oh..." Eight blinks, shaking her head. "Three was just texting to make sure we're all still on for towers later today. She's wrapping up work at Cuttlefish's soon."

'Work' being the more flattering way of saying 'doing chores for an old man who knows she wouldn't say no to helping out', more particularly tending to the yard and cleaning out gutters. Hardly glamorous, but Eight still can't help but find it a little amusing that her rough and grizzled coworker was so consistently soft about this sort of thing. For as indifferent and aloof as she may try to come off Three really and truly  _was_ just a good girl who wanted to do what she could for others after all.

Edgy cape or no.

"Yeah, I'm definitely on!" Four seems to perk up visibly, her posture even straightening out for the most part. "But first, we totally gotta hit the training grounds for a while. I'm gonna learn to outrun that scope've yours if it kills me."

Eight's lips curl into a wry smirk. 

"Or you could learn to use a gun that needs  _aim."_

"Pft, yeah, in your dreams."


End file.
